


Becoming Nothing

by SeiryuNoHoushi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Death, Horrible Kismesitude, M/M, Rape, Sexual Violence, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeiryuNoHoushi/pseuds/SeiryuNoHoushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are Equius Zahhak... And you're starting to wish you'd never existed...</p><p>WARNING! - As the tags say, this has Rape/Non-con in it! I includes suicidal thoughts/suicide and violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I've been meaning for a while to use the song "[A&E](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36MDFiV1YRQ)" to write a Gamzee/Equius fic and I knew it wasn't going to be pretty.
> 
> On a side note, I don't like the title.

You’re not sure how you feel any more. You know you shouldn’t be here, that you shouldn’t be talking to him. Maybe in your universe he wasn’t the end of you –you’ve spoken with the alpha timeline version of yourself and come to the conclusion that your death in his time line was not just, so there was no chance that you should die in such a foolish manner. 

He likes to start with venomous words and you don’t know why you take them. He calls you peasantblood, insults you, degrades you. He’s finally accepted his place in life just as you’ve tried to shed yours… And yet… You can’t escape.

He grabs you by your ridiculous god tier wings. His have proven fake, easily discarded, but yours are real. You bite your lip to keep from crying out. You refuse to scream for him, just as you refuse to kneel of your own free will. The Gamzee Makara that you would have blindly followed is long gone, buried with your innocence and the beliefs of your childhood. This is not the first time he’s ripped the wings from your back.

“Smile for a brother, motherfucker.” He demands. “Isn’t this what you all up and wanted?”

You don’t smile. Is this what you wanted? You seem to remember, vaguely, once asking for punishment for imagined disobediences… But you asked that of a Gamzee who would never be this cruel… A Makara who simply tried to put on a stern tone and give a vague, confused lecture. 

That was your Gamzee… The one who could have taken your black quadrant. This is an entirely different troll.. And he frightens you.

Your wings rip free with a sound like cloth tearing… If the cloth was wet, you suppose. There’s a sick plop as he throws them to the ground and you don’t even acknowledge it. Maybe… Maybe you feel defeated? That seems right. He’ll find you if you don’t meet him here.

He doesn’t waste any time, ripping cloth, stripping flesh with sharp nails. He bites you and you simply endure. He won’t kill you – no, not yet. You’re no good to him cold and dead. You don’t like to dwell on the thought, but he’d rather violate your living flesh than your corpse. 

He’s soaked in blue when he forces you to look at him and you can feel the tattered skin of your flayed back barely clinging. He’s ripped your cape from you and given you a new one. “Need to teach a motherfucker some respect…” His words are barely more than a whisper. The fluctuations in his volume warn you that he’s particularly unstable today.

He doesn’t strip down – just another sign that he is not a proper kismesis, simply pushes codpiece and pants far enough down to accommodate his bulge. You know what’s going to happen, but you’re never prepared for it.

He doesn’t use your nook – that would be unpleasant, but less humiliating. Instead, he hitches your legs up higher, forcing you to lay on your burning, shredded back as he violates your chagrin tunnel. He makes no effort to accommodate you – not even the decency to start at a slow pace. You feel your own nails digging into your palms, cutting and bruising. Your lip is bleeding badly – you’re sure you’ve pierced it in several places. No. No sound. You can’t control the blue tears running down your face, but you can keep that last satisfaction from him.

You’re relatively sure that he’s ruptured something this time and you wonder if he intends to leave you to bleed to death. He’s done that before. He goes out of his way to take you to secluded places where no one will stumble on you when he chooses to leave you, mangled, to suffer for hours. If he could guarantee the person to stumble on you would be Nepeta, he would make that the final turn of the screw. Could your moirail grant you the mercy of a swift death? Could the huntress harden herself to that?

You feel his hands at your throat and for that, you’re willing to accept whatever dark god has shown pity on you today as your savior. He cuts off your air and the burning sensation is almost immediate. _Highblood… Don’t let go…_

He floods you with genetic material – purple mixing with the deep blue of your blood – and you want to cry. He lets go of your throat and your traitor body gasps for air. It struggles to live as you long for double-death.

He makes a disgusted face at you, at what he’s made you, at your disobedience. “Punchline of the vast motherfucking joke…” He never makes much sense, muttering more to himself than talking to you. Soon he’ll wake and you’ll be left to your slow death and painful rebirth. Funny how you have to die for God Tier to bring you back.

It takes a long time for your body to give up the fight you’ve already forfeited, but finally you fade in to sweet blackness, knowing the reprieve is only temporary. Your body is about to start knitting itself back together.

You’re glad he never stays for this. Your screams of agony ring through the dream bubble, echoing in caves, breaking the vast silence. Does he do this to other versions of yourself? You’ve yet to see another Heir of Void and you think that’s what has made you his victim. Your wings reattach, the last little piece of destruction fixed. You’re whole once more.

He knows that he can abuse you over and over. The only thing more enjoyable for him, you’re sure, would be if you were in his universe, still alive. You wish that you had never existed, that your time line had never happened. You want to write yourself out of this story, to cross it out and make a blank slate. You punch the ground, frustrated by your own helplessness.

It isn’t until you despair completely, knowing that you’ve died and healed just to go through the same torture again, that you begin fading. Well, fading isn’t really the word for it. Fading would imply that your physical body started becoming semi-transparent. Instead, you slowly begin to draw blanks on things you should know… Your lusus… You can’t recall his face… Quadrants… Were yours empty…? You manage to hold on to two facts as you become a man-shaped obfuscation… You are Equius Zahhak… (Who is that…?) The Heir of Void… (There’s no such hero…) And you never existed.


End file.
